


Black out

by OtterMcKilbourne (p_3a)



Series: NaNoWriMo 2014 [23]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-25
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-02-27 00:24:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2671994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/p_3a/pseuds/OtterMcKilbourne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wrathion wakes up in unfamiliar surroundings after losing consciousness somewhere in Spires of Arak.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Wrathion didn't really remember what happened before now.

Well. He remembered a little.

He remembered being alone. His bloodgems cold, suddenly; as though the connection had been severed. By loss of his agents or by placing them on the other side of an anti-magic barrier, the result was the same. He remembered fear, and running through a forest as fast as his legs could carry him, because his wings wouldn't - he didn't remember why - and he remembered pain.

And now he was... lying face down in a _very_ soft bed. He didn't remember that part.

He moved, a little, and immediately pain lanced through his back. It felt like bruises, and... something else, but it was with his wing - he shapeshifted awkwardly half-way, just enough to show his wings and horns and tail, and quickly discovered what the matter was. His left wing was broken. Wonderful. Not going anywhere for a while, then.

Which lead him back to the question of whose bed he was lying in. It was comfortable, so if it was someone from the Horde, it was a blood elf. And he could sense rather a lot of magic in the air. So a mage of some kind. They hadn't taken him to Stormwind, so anyone from the Alliance itself was looking unlikely. Blood elf was looking good. He cracked his eyes open and peered at the bedside table - more magic shimmered underneath the floating flower vase. That was very blood-elf. But the décor was purple, not red and gold...

"Oh, are you awake?" came a voice, suddenly. Wrathion tried to shoot upright to face his sudden visitor, but only succeeded in aggravating his broken wing - he cried out in pain and fell back to the bed, biting his lip so's not to whimper.

"Don't try to move." The voice was deep, resonant, and gentle. Sympathetic, almost. Wrathion didn't trust it. "I have a medic on the way to see to your injuries."  
"Who?"  
"A pair of colleagues of mine."  
"I said who, not what." Wrathion tried to twist his head to see the speaker, but couldn't quite move far enough without his back aching too badly. Mercifully, he came into view anyway.

An old man. A very old man. Human, with mid-toned skin and silvery hair. He looked about eighty, but Wrathion could tell something was unusual about that - he shook his head, trying to clear it of all the other magic in the air, but couldn't quite pin what was making him appear so old.

He chuckled. "It's an aging curse, my friend. I look older than I am. Similar to you, I think."  
Wrathion's mind ticked over. "...then you're... Khadgar."  
"Very astute, yes."  
"Jaina would never have let you bring me here."  
"She doesn't know I did."  
"Lying to a superior. I like it."  
"She's also my friend. Sometimes we have to hide things to protect our friends. You understand THAT, Prince Wrathion."  
"...yes, I think I do." Wrathion frowned lightly. "How much do you know?"  
"As much as Anduin told me and then some."  
"Has he been telling _everyone_ , then?" Wrathion felt bitterness swell in his heart.  
"Only HIS friends. He reminds me of his grandfather in some ways. It never occurs to him that his friends might betray him one day," he smiled, ruefully.

"But enough about that. How's your back?"  
"Sore."  
"They did quite a number on you with the whips," Khadgar commented, rubbing his chin. "I can understand why the Legion would want you, but not why they'd fail to transfer you to one of their offworld bases a lot sooner than they tried to."  
"The-- Legion..?" Wrathion's mood plummeted. Could he not remember because those memories had been forcibly taken from him..?  
"Yes. They captured you some time after you left your last known location in Arak, and took you to a Shadow Council base in Frostfire, of all places. My champion happened upon you while she was clearing out their portals."  
"And my agents?"  
"I don't know. I'm sorry."

There was an awkward silence. Wrathion hated the false sympathy he saw on Khadgar's face, so he was the one that broke it.  
"Your colleagues. Who?"  
"A dragon and a priest. I know of your history with the Red flight, but it was difficult to find a draconic medic who wasn't among their number, so I had to settle for a Blue."  
"Oh _no_. Who?"  
"Kalecgos."  
" _Ugh_. And the Priest."  
"Anduin."  
" _AUUUGH_. You have the worst taste!" Wrathion burrowed his face back into the pillow.  
"A 'thank you' would be nice."  
"Why would I _thank you_ for bringing that _nerd_ and my _ex_?"  
"Because I'm giving you a chance to _reconcile_ with your ex. You know how sympathetic he can be."  
"He made it pretty plain he didn't want to reconcile with _me_. Telling the entire Alliance I was a wanted criminal." Wrathion's voice was still muffled by the fluffy feather pillows he'd smushed up against his face with both arms. "What wretched lie did you tell him to get him to agree to come here?"  
"I didn't lie to him at all." Unseen by Wrathion, Khadgar smirked and cupped his chin with one hand. "You know, the two of you are similar."  
"What's _that_ supposed to mean?!" Wrathion whipped his face around, glaring. His back screamed in agony but he ignored it.  
"Like a mirror of each other. He trusts his friends too much, and you consign yours to the wayside too easily."

Wrathion glared. "You are awful and nosy."  
"You're not the first to say that, Prince Wrathion, and I doubt you'll be the last."  
"Stop talking. I'm going back to sleep."  
"Very well~." Khadgar grinned, knowing he'd won the conversation. "I'll have some food brought up for you when you wake."  
"I don't care."  
"And something to drink. We rehydrated you when we found you, but you'll still need to be diligent for a couple of days while you recover, injuries notwithstanding."  
"I don't _care_. Go away."  
"So sleep well until then."  
"Shut _up_!"

Wrathion groaned again and buried his face in the pillow, then immediately began wishing he'd asked Khadgar to bring up some painkillers, too. His back probably wasn't _literally_ killing him, but the wounds from the succubus whips were terrible. His wing was... not healthy; probably broken. And his leg felt as though it must have been bandaged too, so that must be injured.

He hated to admit it, but at least Khadgar had saved his life. And maybe the meddling magus would end up saving his relationship with Anduin, too.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To Wrathion’s dismay, the healer Khadgar brought in to look at his injuries is none other than Anduin Wrynn.

There was much less screaming than Wrathion had expected there to be, although about the same amount of crying.

He'd expected Anduin to either refuse to speak to him at all while he was healing his injuries, or to endlessly berate him for every bad mistake Anduin decided he'd made while Kalec incessantly listed off facts about dragon anatomy (all of which were incorrect for a black whelpling). Later in the visit, Anduin would dissolve into angry tears and blame Wrathion for all his problems, before leaving and never speaking to him again.

What happened instead was Anduin saw the state of Wrathion's back and burst into tears immediately.

Khadgar conjured a box of tissues and offered them to Anduin. Anduin took one and dabbed at his eyes. Kalec hovered awkwardly in the background, not wanting to get involved any sooner than was strictly necessary.

"Just... what did they _do_ to you?"  
"I can't say I'm completely sure, Anduin Wrynn, but I might ask the same of you."  
"Wh... what?" He sniffed and Khadgar proffered the tissues again. Wrathion couldn't help but think he was possibly more worried about having to clean stains off his carpet than he was about Anduin, but that judgement could be said as much to be Wrathion's passive distaste for Khadgar after bringing Anduin here in the first place as it was Khadgar's actual body language.  
"The last time I heard news of you, you were writing up wanted posters for my capture. And now you're crying over me."  
"This isn't the first time I've cried over you," Anduin said, with only a little bit of bitterness in it.  
"...it's not?"  
"No. I actually missed you quite a lot," he said, frowning at Wrathion - tears streaming down his cheeks. "And now you turn up like this? What happened?"  
"Like I say, I'm not precisely sure."  
Anduin dabbed at his cheeks with the tissue again. "How can you not be _sure_?"  
"I don't exactly recall much of it, you see," he said, sighing a little. "...any. Any of it."  
"Well... can I have a look?"

Wrathion, who was laying face-down still, tugged the blanket down off his back with one hand. It was bandaged, of course; Anduin moved fowards and gently removed the coverings.

Anduin Wrynn's hands ran over Wrathion's bared back, barely touching the surface. Lash after lash had left raised welts over Wrathion's skin, each tinged in equal parts deep angry purple from the bruises, and a sickly fel green from the whip used to inflict the injuries. Anduin had to bite his lip again to keep from crying. "I'm so sorry..."  
"What are _you_ sorry for?"  
"You shouldn't have been hurt like this."  
"No?" Wrathion twisted his head as far as he could, to look at Anduin. "An enemy is an enemy, and I am an enemy of the Legion. Their methods are, of course, infernal, but I expected worse than this for going against them. This isn't even par for the course; it's less than that."  
"That-- no!" Anduin's hands pulled back a little and curled into determined fists. "You're doing the right thing, and that means it's not fair you'd be punished for it!"  
"Oh, I'm doing the _right_ thing now, am I?" Wrathion snorted, harshly, and buried his face in the pillow.

Anduin must have given some kind of pitiful look, because Wrathion heard Khadgar quietly usher Kalec out of the room before leaving it himself, too, and closing the door. Wrathion hugged the pillow around his ears.

"Listen, Wrathion," Anduin said. "I... I was really hurt. And confused, after the tiger temple. I was upset you'd just leave me like that after everything we went through together... I don't hate you. And I don't think you're doing the wrong thing. And-- and after I found out you weren't actually working for Kairozdormu, just using him to get to Draenor early... I had you taken off the wanted list."  
"Well, news of that last part didn't reach all of your outposts." Or me, he thought bitterly.  
"That's because Father didn't want me to do it," Anduin admitted sheepishly. "And he outranks me. But I kept putting it through. It just means there's been a lot of confusion."  
Wrathion was silent for a few moments. Realistically, he knew there was no reason for Anduin to be lying to him, yet his paranoia still wanted to believe he would. He shook his head slightly, clearing it of the thoughts, then lay back down. "But you still hate me."  
"I don't hate you, Wrathion!" Anduin took a risk, and placed a hand on Wrathion's arm. Wrathion didn't move away. "I really don't. I promise. I was hurt, and confused, and I didn't think through the effects of what I told everyone. I'm sorry."  
"It's not like you to not think these things through. Why am I the one who ends up being pursued for your own short-sightedness?"  
"Because-- you're the one I feel most strongly about," Anduin said, quietly. "And... maybe that does cloud my judgement a little. For better or worse."  
"Mostly worse."  
"...mostly worse, yes." Anduin bowed his head a little.

There was a short silence, before Anduin spoke again. "...and... I can tell you're hurt, too. And not just physically."  
"That's nonsense."  
"You lash out verbally when you're hurt. You always have. I don't think you mean some of what you're saying, either."  
Wrathion turned his head the other way, away from Anduin, his cheek pressing hard into the pillow and his claws digging in to the sides of it where he was hugging it.  
"...so... I just wanted to say that I'm sorry I hurt you so badly. And that I wish you wouldn't keep trying to hurt me so I'll go away again. I'd like to make it up to you, by healing you, at least, and helping you in any other way you need me to, but I can't do that if you keep shouting at me."  
Again, Wrathion met him with silence.  
"...I'd really like us to be friends again... please?"  
A long silence.

"...please heal my back," Wrathion said, eventually; quietly, seemingly mollified. "It hurts a lot."

Anduin let out a shaky breath, smiling, then sat down on the bed next to Wrathion. There was a bottle of salve on the bedside that Khadgar had left for him to work with - it would negate the fel tinge in the lashmarks, and Anduin could heal the rest on his own. Delicately, Anduin dabbed the salve onto the welts with little pieces of torn-off bandage. Wrathion breathed deeply, evenly, throughout; he was used to pain, and the stinging that came with antiseptic. And this was, in a sense, antiseptic. It felt the same, at least.

It took Anduin a good half-hour to work through all of Wrathion's injuries, and he paused before saying aloud,  
"It's your left wing that's broken, isn't it?"  
Wrathion frowned suspiciously. Anduin _had_ been known to use mind magic under extraneous circumstances... "How did you know?"  
"Your tattoo is a strange shape," he said plainly. He was referring to the wing-shaped tattoos on Wrathion's back - Wrathion liked to shapeshift them there as simple aesthetic preference, and hadn't thought of them as having any particular magical property. Yet Anduin was telling him it looked broken... how interesting.  
"Yes, it is. I take it you would like to see it?"  
"Yes, but I should call Kalecgos in first. That's what he's here for, really."  
"Uggghhh. Really?"  
"I'm afraid so. He knows more about wing anatomy than I do. Sorry."  
"Fine. Just don't expect me to talk to him. I can't stand him."

Anduin stood up, but hovered by the bedside. "...Wrathion?"  
"Yes?" Wrathion looked at him. He wasn't crying any more; but he looked worried, somehow. Whatever about? His condition was improving now, wasn't it?  
"...can we be friends again?"

Wrathion wanted to. But what of their sundered allegiances, their differences in outlook? What of Anduin's tendency to favour the lawful, and Wrathion's to favour the effective? Anduin's tendency to prefer the kind and Wrathion's to prioritise the pragmatic? Could they really be friends again, just like that?

"...I would like that very much, Anduin Wrynn," he said, anyway. And the smile on Anduin's face made it worth it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wrathion consents to Anduin's use of shadow magic to see if they can figure out more about what happened to him while he was captured.

Wrathion couldn't quite believe how easy it had been to slip back into this.

He'd remained, as he'd said, stoic and silent while Kalecgos had instructed Anduin on how to heal his wing. Again, it had hurt; but Wrathion was brave, and knew how to handle pain when he needed to. He was shapeshifted half-way, so his wings, horns, and tail were showing; his bad wing had been splinted and bandaged to his shoulder and upper arm to keep it straight, and his arm, in turn, had been slung up to his opposing shoulder to keep it still. He'd been unable to shapeshift his wings away again - unlike clothes, he was unable to shapeshift with something so technical as a splint in place. Maybe he'd practice that, one day.

And then Kalecgos had left, and he and Anduin had... talked. For a while. Anduin had filled Wrathion in on how his training had come along since they last met - how he'd met Yrel and trained under _her_ , for a while, too, and he spoke at length about how kind and impressive a tutor she'd been, for saying she was only a student of a few months herself too. And Wrathion had sparingly told Anduin details about what he'd been doing in the mean time, too. Most notably, he told him about what had happened at Admiral Taylor's garrison - and how Wrathion himself had saved some of the Admiral's best followers from the unsavoury fate Ephial had planned for them.

Then, Anduin - having spent the hour or two they'd been talking gently infusing Wrathion's back with Light - suggested they sit Wrathion up in bed, with his back off the backrest, and play a board game together.

And that's exactly what they were doing. They were playing Jihui together. After months of Wrathion being sure Anduin would never want to see him again, of believing the home he'd been close to having was gone forever - and they were playing Jihui together.

Ridiculous.

He was even playing by the rules today, much to Anduin's surprise. Anduin didn't comment on it, but he did look relieved every time Wrathion made a cooperative move. Relieved and happy. Two things Wrathion never thought he'd personally get to see on Anduin's face again.

It was after they won the game together that Wrathion, suddenly, reached across the table to hold onto Anduin's hand.

Anduin looked alarmed, at first, but his face softened into a smile. He turned his palm up, and gripped Wrathion's hand. "Are you alright?"  
"Y-- Yes. Yes, I am." Wrathion drew himself up, his back twinging (he ignored it) and his good wing poised about his shoulder. "Anduin?"  
"Yes, Wrathion?" He smiled, a little nervously, now.  
"May-- may I ask you to--" He bit his lip, and started again. "I take back what I said earlier. Please may you take a look and see what's happened to my memories?"

Anduin, suddenly, laughed. Wrathion flinched, so Anduin moved to hold his hand with both of his own, instead. "No, sorry-- I thought you were going to ask me to kiss you. I just didn't expect that."  
Wrathion's cheeks flushed. "You--??"  
Anduin started to blush, too. "I mean. Never mind. I'll look at your mind for you."

Wrathion was instructed to make himself comfortable; all he really did was shuffle a little. It's not as though he could lay down on his back or anything. Then Anduin moved the table out from between them, and sat down opposite him, establishing eye contact. Wrathion tried to ignore the way even Anduin's human eyes visibly dilated on looking at him.

"Just think about the things you usually do," Anduin said. "You'll feel me come alongside you, and then I need you to guide me back to the missing memories by thinking about the things you remember either side of them."  
Wrathion nodded. His free hand was clenched into a fist in his lap; he had to admit he was nervous, but Anduin seemed to understand how important it was that this was done respectfully. He trusted him, to a point.

Slowly, he felt another presence join his mind. It was barely there - he'd dismiss it as just a glimmer of paranoia in any other circumstances. It stayed there for a few moments; Wrathion took it as a cue to begin thinking of the events leading up to his capture, so he did.

The forest of Arak; the south of the peninsula. The trees there, winding and new, fast-growing softwoods that replenished themselves after fires which Wrathion could feel burning deep in the peat bogs. He was returning to work after taking the Alliance soldiers he'd rescued from the garrison by Southport to another Alliance outpost. He was travelling through the forest, and then...

"It's been taken," Anduin said, aloud. His voice was shaking a little. "They took your memories. Can you try and remember some other things, so we can see if they've taken anything else?"  
"Like what?"  
"Anything from your past. Especially pertinent things, anything the Legion would want."

Wrathion remembered. He remembered planning meetings, writing schedules and personnel lists; but Anduin frowned. "I think they tampered here too... this is bad news."  
"Very bad." Wrathion broke the eye contact and felt Anduin's presence subside; he ran his hand over his matted hair. "I'm not sure how we're going to recover from some of that, you know. Of course everything has a backup plan, but I know about _those_ , as well."  
"Maybe you'll think this is silly, but I'd like to focus on getting you recovered. We should tell Khadgar about this and let him deal with it."  
Wrathion gave Anduin a long stare, but Anduin just moved over to the bed and sat beside him. "You're frightened," he said, matter-of-factly, "but we both know fear won't help anyway. So we'll tell Khadgar and then heal you and work from there."

Wrathion looked at him. Without thinking, Anduin had reached for his hand; with thought, Wrathion sighed... then slowly, almost cautiously (as though it would vanish if he weren't careful), rest his head on Anduin's shoulder.

They'd tell Khadgar. And then they'd heal Wrathion's wounds, and work from there.

Wrathion knew the reason Anduin rarely had to rely on mind control. It was because his ideas were usually sound enough to be fulfilled on their own merit.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wrathion and Anduin become reacquainted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is explicit. Wrathion is a trans man; Anduin is a cis man.

"Anduin?"  
"Yes?"  
"Would you heal my back again?"

Anduin double-took. Which was understandable, really. Before now, Wrathion never asked Anduin to use the Light around him - in fact, he'd done the opposite of that, asking Anduin to keep that magic as far away from him as possible. It reminded him of the Eye of the Watchers, he said, and in a very unpleasant way. And he hadn't been lying, but something else took precedence today.

"...why?" Anduin moved over to the bed, putting his book down. "I mean, I'll do it, but why the change of heart?"  
"My Prince, we've proven the Legion have tampered with my mind. I'd very much like to prove that they do not, as is possible, still have me captive and are using a conjured image of you as a balm to keep me submissive. The Legion, for all their power, are unable to conjure any semblance of the Light. But you can. So would you?"  
"Of course. Would you lie down?"

Wrathion lay down on his side, this time; it would make it easier for Anduin to reach his back from the chair he preferred to sit in. Anduin took his position, and the Light sprung to his hands very easily indeed.

Wrathion let its cool essence suffuse his injuries. They were hurting less, and he could probably lie on his back to sleep now if it weren't for his wing. The Light traced the lashmarks like a cool afternoon breeze, soothing away the stinging and aching; and then suddenly Wrathion felt a soft kiss joining it, pressed against the base of his neck.

Alarmed, he twisted around to face Anduin again. Anduin leaned back, bright red in the face.  
Wrathion stared incredulously. "What--?"  
"I-It just felt right," Anduin stammered, his cheeks looking ready to explode if any more blood were to fill them. "I'm-- I'm sorry, I can just carry on..."  
"Why did it feel right?" Wrathion gripped the covers with his good hand. He was confused, more than anything - but Anduin must have thought he was furious somehow, because he flinched and leaned back, looking ready to cry.

"No--" Wrathion took a breath and sat up properly. "No, I'm not-- I'm not angry. Just, ahh. Confused. Why..?"  
Anduin bit his lip and looked down. "I don't... know. I don't know. It just felt right. I didn't think. I'm sorry."  
"No, you..." Wrathion took a breath, "you really needn't apologise."

Silence hung in the air for a few moments; then they both tried to speak at once. Another, shorter quiet, before Wrathion spoke.  
"You needn't apologise. And, ah. You can kiss me again, if you'd like."

He felt the heat fill his own cheeks too, spreading to his ears as Anduin stared at him. At first Wrathion thought he was going to decline, suddenly deciding it was a terrible idea - but slowly, he leaned in, and they kissed.

Wrathion found himself reaching for Anduin's shoulder, to pull him close; Anduin made a soft noise and gladly moved towards the bed to kiss Wrathion more earnestly. And Wrathion noticed, throughout, that Anduin hadn't stopped channelling the Light - if anything, it grew stronger as they moved closer together.

They moved together, Anduin laying down on the bed and beckoning Wrathion into his lap; the Light was beginning to feel less like a scrutinising clinical spotlight and more like a warm summer's sunshaft, the longer Wrathion worked his lips with Anduin's. It wasn't long before Anduin moved his kisses to Wrathion's cheeks and shoulders, gently brushing his long hair out of the way with one careful hand; the other wrapped around Wrathion's hips and held him close, as loving a gesture as the continued aura of Light was.

Wrathion paused, breathless, smirking. "You know, Anduin Wrynn, it's not like you to want to do this sort of thing in someone else's bed. Terribly inconsiderate."  
"Mm, well," Anduin smiled, taking the moment to look Wrathion's face over with admiration, "this isn't _actually_ Khadgar's only bed. So I don't feel too bad."  
Wrathion almost went to close the kiss again, but he paused. "And we're... really doing this, again? After everything?"  
"If you want to," Anduin said, lifting a hand to cup Wrathion's cheek. "Because I definitely want to."  
"Then I suppose we are."

Wrathion moved to kiss Anduin again, and he could feel the way the intensity of the Light doubled every time he brushed his tongue against Anduin's, every time his hand moved to stroke Anduin's cheek or to rest against his chest. It was hurting his back to keep upright with only one hand like that, though, so he stopped after a moment; Anduin welcomed him into a warm hug, yet again filling his back with warmth and soothing. All of a sudden Wrathion felt a surge of affection and arousal from nowhere, and he let out an involuntary whimper as a shudder went through him. Anduin kissed the top of his head.

"Would you like me to brush your hair out for you later?" Anduin asked. He'd remembered Wrathion liked to keep it neat... he just hadn't had the opportunity to, in the last few days.  
"Later. Let's focus on getting me off for now."  
Anduin laughed. "You're always so surprisingly blunt."  
"Mm, not so surprising. I am a dragon, after all. We breathe fire. It's not very subtle."  
"True..." Anduin kissed Wrathion's forehead. "Shuffle up a bit so I can reach you, then."

Wrathion knew what he meant. He moved up to rest his head against Anduin's shoulder, his good arm wrapped over his stomach; Anduin's hands stroked over his back again, once more infusing it with Light, before moving further down. Anduin himself took a deep breath as he reached to grip Wrathion's behind. It wasn't Anduin's _favourite_ part of Wrathion, per se - that was his face, Anduin had said months before, with so much reverence and elaboration that Wrathion actually believed he was telling the truth. But his behind was definitely up there, and it seemed to be one of Anduin's favourite parts to touch.

His hands - large, compared to Wrathion's, with fingers strong despite the scarring which marked where they'd been crushed - squeezed and parted Wrathion's cheeks, eliciting another gasp from the dragon. He still hadn't stopped channelling the Light, either, and that wasn't helping Wrathion stay calm. It was enveloping any of his senses which weren't distracted by his physical touch, making him dizzy and overwhelmed. Infuriatingly sweet Prince...

Despite his better judgement, Wrathion sat up enough to kiss Anduin again as he lifted the waistband of Wrathion's loose sleep trousers to slip his other hand inside them. The kiss wasn't Anduin's main focus, but he managed to make it wonderful anyway. It infuriated Wrathion sometimes, how effortlessly GOOD Anduin was at this. Then his thick fingers touched up against Wrathion's slick nethers, and the dragon _gasped_.

A thought occurred to him, that not less than a week ago, he thought he'd never get to do this again. Not with Anduin, at least. Not with wonderful, kind, gentle Anduin. Anduin's fingertips wandered downwards and found Wrathion's clit, gracing it delicately with practically teasing touches while the palm of his hand cupped the rest of him; the Light swept over them both once more, and that was enough for Wrathion.

Wrathion had never been one to delay his own orgasms unless asked to for whichever game they were playing at the time, but Anduin gave a surprised laugh when he came _that_ quickly. He withdrew his hand slowly from Wrathion's underwear, grinning. "That excited?"  
"Yes. Shut up. It didn't help that you kept casting Light throughout..."  
"I wasn't really doing that on purpose." Anduin smiled. "It just kind of happens sometimes. When I'm with someone I really like."  
"...well, would you like that someone-you-really-like to get _you_  off, too?"  
"I'll pass for now, I think. I'd like to just lie here with you for a bit..."  
"If it were any other day, I'd demand to be allowed to return the favour." That was a lie - there were plenty of times when only one of them had assisted the other, and not vice-versa - but the sentiment was more that he would have, if Anduin had wanted it. "As it is, I think I'm quite happy to lie with you."  
"I'm glad," Anduin said, humming and once again stroking his clean hand over Wrathion's hair.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Khadgar and Wrathion conspire about a solution to their predicament.

Khadgar stroked his chin and _frowned_.

Wrathion had to admit he wasn’t really listening to what Anduin was telling the older man, but he was paying attention to what they were both doing. Anduin was speaking earnestly - his hands spread out, palm-up, appealing to the man for some sort of assistance or support. And Khadgar was thinking.

It was obvious the man used to have a beard. It was like he missed stroking it.

Wrathion buried his face back in his pillow. There was no point in listening, anyway. It’s not like he could do anything to help. The fel taint in his injuries meant his recovery was taking a long time, and sapping his strength more than it ought to have been; he was sleeping a lot, eating a lot, and not doing an awful lot of anything else. It was absurd. He felt like a little child, not someone who was meant to be saving the world.

Yet even now he found sleep creeping in at the edge of his consciousness. And, honestly. What was the point in stopping it? It wasn’t like he was getting anything done by being here.

If the Legion’s goal had been to break his morale, he thought as he drifted off to the sound of Anduin’s gentle syllables… then perhaps they’d been more victorious than he liked to admit.

He awoke when it was dark, and at first he assumed he was alone. So - with the absence of anyone to tell him off for doing so - he sat up, and--

“Maybe not such a smart idea,” Khadgar said.

Wrathion jumped. There was no two ways about it; he jumped what felt like a foot off the bed, clutching the sheets tight in both hands and staring with wide eyes at the chair where the archmage was sat. In the dark. “Because that isn’t creepy at _all_ ,” he eventually managed to drawl, effecting a casualness which could only have been fabricated.

The old man shrugged, not conceding either way, then waved a hand. The gem-like globes near the ceiling began to glow, lighting the room once again.

“You seem to be very keen to get going,” Khadgar observed. Wrathion found it slightly obnoxious how easily Khadgar was able to portray observing with simple tone of voice. “Most would be glad to get the bed-rest, but not you.”  
“No,” Wrathion said flatly. “I wonder why.”  
“Yes, so do I. Why?”  
“Isn’t it obvious?!” Wrathion sat up again, and Khadgar raised an eyebrow, but Wrathion stood his ground this time. Or… sat on it, at least. “This entire absurdity is a result of my failure and my lack of foresight. It falls, therefore, to me to fix it. But you and your ridiculous choice of medic won’t let me!”  
“No, I won’t. You are, contrary to your apparent belief, a friend of mine, and I won’t allow you to put yourself in harm’s way when it’s not necessary.”  
“Shut up!” Wrathion shoved his face into the pillow and covered his ears. Only after a few moments did he uncover them again, and Khadgar spoke once more - “however,” he said. And now Wrathion was listening.

“I can’t condone such a thing,” he continued. “But I may have been researching certain Titan devices, and found information on one that may be of use in our current situation.”  
“...go on,” Wrathion said, cautiously relaxing.  
“It’s a Titan origination device,” he said; and he noted the way his companion bristled, but he carried on regardless. “And technically, an anomaly among its kind. It was contained in the ruins at Algalon's Vault near Ulduar, and has been dormant for many years. It’s most notable for failing its prime directive; it doesn’t re-originate the creatures within its radius, but it does do one thing. It wipes their memories.”

Wrathion caught on, staring at Khadgar. “So you want me to--”  
“I want you to stay here and recover,” Khadgar insisted, but the expression on his face said otherwise.  
“...persuade one of my companions to retrieve this device and... detonate it... in the centre of the Legion camp that captured me to begin with?”  
“Yes,” Khadgar said, simply.

“Won’t they also lose their memories in doing so?”  
“Well, yes. That’s the sacrifice that has to be made in this situation, I’m afraid.”  
“And we’d have to destroy all recorded evidence of it as well.”  
“Yes, that would be imperative. I believe it shouldn’t be too difficult to wire a remote bomb of some variety to their databanks that would detonate at the same time.”  
“And those who they have already communicated to?”  
“Well, with any luck, we-- uh,” Khadgar paused, “rather, anyone undertaking such a foolish and dangerous mission should be able to plant enough evidence to suggest the information in question was fabricated by an over-eager subordinate wanting to please his master. Such things aren’t unheard of in the Legion.”  
“I can’t imagine that subordinate would meet a pleasant end,” Wrathion said, a small smile forming on his face.  
“No, neither can I,” Khadgar agreed.  
“So…” Wrathion’s smirk took on a conspiratorial edge, “let’s ensure we pick a particularly cruel one.”

Khadgar returned the grin, but then it faded. “I can’t condone this,” he said, seriously. “It’s reckless at best, and it would have to be agreed on by the entire Council of Six. But there is information on the artefact and its whereabouts available in my library.”

“Very well,” said Wrathion. And then Khadgar stood and turned to leave the room.

He hovered by the doorway. “Oh, and…” Wrathion looked at him, curious as to what he had to say. “Don’t die.”

The dragon couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s my line, you wretched old man!”  
“I know,” Khadgar grinned. “I know.”

Then Wrathion was alone; and he knew he should maintain his bedrest. Yet a restlessness grew in his heart, and he climbed slowly out of the bed, padding on soft feet down to the library in question. There was, after all, no time to waste whatsoever.


	6. Chapter 6

And so it was with no small amount of triumph that, around a week later and with far less preparation than he usually made for these things, Wrathion enacted his plan.

The deciding factor wasn’t the research he’d been doing on the origination device, although that had certainly expedited his intent. It wasn’t even his health. It was the return of his two bodyguards - Left and Right. He’d been separated from them in the event of his capture, and they’d taken a while to find him again.

The fact they _had_ found him again told Wrathion two things. First, that he now had access once more to one of his greatest assets. Left and Right were highly trained, _highly_ loyal, and, above all else, reliable. He knew their limits, and they knew his; it was likely he wouldn’t have been captured, had they been at his side as they usually were. It could be described as a miracle that they hadn’t been captured themselves when Wrathion was, but Wrathion called it training. Secondly, however, it also meant his location was no longer a secret. As highly trained as Left and Right were, there _were_ agents among the Legion that were comparable in skill to them. He couldn’t afford to remain any longer.

He left a note for Khadgar, and another note for Anduin. They had been very kind to him, after all. It was only fair to let them know he’d left of his own accord and not because he’d been kidnapped.

\--

“He’s been kidnapped!”

Anduin’s distraught voice carried way out into the corridor, but Khadgar was focussed on the note in his hand. It was definitely Wrathion’s handwriting, and it didn’t seem to have been written under any sort of duress.

“May I see your note?”  
“Wh… why?” Anduin was holding back tears, and Khadgar sympathised. He’d probably be upset too, if his pseudo-datefriend had left without saying goodbye face-to-face like this. But if Khadgar’s hunch was right, then the reckless move was simply to avoid being persuaded into staying.  
“So I can see if there are any discrepancies between the two which might be a code,” he explained plainly, giving what he hoped came across as a kind smile. Anduin sniffed, wiped his nose on the cuff of his sleeve, then handed over the note.

Khadgar couldn’t see a code, at least, and he liked to think he knew Wrathion well enough that he’d be able to tell. He looked at the notes, then Anduin; then handed the note back, quietly.  
“I think he left of his own accord,” he said, not knowing how Anduin would react.

Anduin stared at Khadgar, then at the two notes. Then at Khadgar again.

Then his face resolved into a determined frown, and he nodded.

“We have to go after him,” he said simply.

\--

To most people, the trip from Khadgar’s tower on Draenor-that-Was to the Storm Peaks would have been a long, arduous trek of multiple weeks and several outfit-changes having to be made by selling the old gear if you couldn’t carry it all. Wrathion didn’t have that long. Luckily, he was also the sort of person who was smart enough to invest in various… _connections_ which could help to expedite travel like this in a world where portals were a luxurious yet _existent_ commodity. Right aided with the sweet-talk, Left with the money, and Wrathion with the threats - together, they were an unstoppable force.

In all honesty, Wrathion knew they’d made their way across the continents in record time. But he was still concerned that it may not have been quick enough.

They’d stopped off briefly in K3 to pick up winter gear; although Wrathion could usually shapeshift clothes for himself, there were certain limitations on the bulk and substance of said clothing, and the complex fibres required for truly warm winter gear were beyond his current capabilities. On top of that, Left and Right were only mortals. And Wrathion, while able to fly, could only go so far in this climate - his body was small enough that he’d lose heat too quickly, and it was possible that the air would be thin enough in parts not to permit usual flight anyway.

Their final ascent through the Storm Peaks was by far the slowest part of the journey - but finally, the snowy pillartops of the ruins they were looking for came into view over the tops of the glacier-drowned mountains. It was something of a shallow valley, high in the mountains to the south of the huge gorge which signified the separation of Ulduar from the mainland. This landscape gave Wrathion something of an unsettling sensation to look upon, it had to be said - the knowledge that the Lucid Dream, Yogg-Saron, was not fifty miles away did not lend him to sleep well at night. It was just as well that they weren’t staying in this land for long.

“There ought to be a vault under here,” Right said, taking out one of the maps they’d “borrowed” from Khadgar and showing it to Wrathion. “You should be able to sense it.”

Wrathion had to confess to not using his powers that often, and he was especially hesitant to do so _here_ of all places. After all, digging too deep and finding an Old God was what had driven his father to madness in the first place. But as long as he kept his range close and his aim focussed, it should be safe - and it would save them a _lot_ of time, as well.

It _was_ easy to find. Wrathion withdrew his earthsense from the ground as soon as he found the cavity, and they set about clearing the snow. Explosives may not have been the most subtle of methods, but they were on a time limit, here; any moment wasted would be a moment their enemy could further spread the precious plans Wrathion had been holding onto. So it was with only as much caution as necessary, and no more, that they dropped down into the chamber and began to look for what they wanted.

The vaults were somewhat sparse, and Wrathion worried that they might already have been raided of the device they were here to collect. The shelf where it was supposed to be stored was empty; so was the floor nearby to it, and the shelves with similar designations that might have been mistaken for one another. They were about to start pulling up the floor-tiles when a clear, deep voice rang out from the other end of the chamber.

“Anomaly detected,” it said.

And Wrathion might have thought it a security protocol were it not for the sardonic edge to the tone; the humorous lilt. Titan machinery did not, in Wrathion’s very personal experience, have a sense of humour. Taking the Lighting Lance into his thickly mittened hands, he stepped out from behind the shelves to face the mystery intruder.

It was none other than a nathrezim - holding the very device they were looking for.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

“So you found your way here,” the nathrezim gloated. The hackles on the back of Wrathion’s neck raised as the creature tossed the device from hand to hand. It was singularly ugly; twisted horns with none of the grace or majesty of Wrathion’s own protruded from its forehead. Sickly mottled wings at its back were evaporating the falling snow from above into steam before it ever reached them; its grotesque body was plated with dull, yet - Wrathion knew from reading about such creatures - awfully effective armour.

“Yes,” Right spoke, saving Wrathion from doing so. “And we are taking that device from you.”  
“Oh, I think you’re going to think twice about _that_.” It began to pace towards the trio; Wrathion brandished his crackling polearm, earning himself a chuckle. The Lightning Lance seemed to like this demon about as much as Wrathion did - not at all. “I’ve been one step ahead of you all the way, little Worldbreaker. So much so that I’ve seen fit to reveal myself. You _do_ realise we only do so in times of remarkable victory, don’t you?”

Wrathion only grit his teeth. There had to be another way here.

He could feel Left and Right glancing about the chamber, looking for the clues he couldn’t while he was watching the demon. They couldn’t risk it making any moves while they were looking elsewhere; at least one of them had to keep an eye on it. And Wrathion making eye contact was as good a forlorn intimidation attempt as any.

“I can see you trying to calculate your way out of here, but I’m mercifully informing you that this is the end of the line.” The demon tossed the device into his other hand again, arrogantly peering down at them. “Our invasion is going to be a complete success, thanks to your generous contribution. Truly living up to your father’s name, aren’t you?”

Wrathion was growling, now; he could feel it vibrating his chest, quivering the wings that threatened to shapeshift free of his clothing. This demon’s days were numbered. He’d have to make sure of that. But he wasn’t going to be baited into striking first - not without a _plan_.

“He would be very proud. But I’m afraid I’ve got other engagements waiting on me; I’ll have to love you and leave you, my dear unfortunate friends. Enjoy the apocalypse. Oh, and… the cave-in.”

Before he’d even had time to process what he’d just heard, Wrathion was grabbed around the middle by Left, and he was pulled through the air at alarming speed - the grappling hook that had previously been used to hike here was now being used to pull them closer to the entrance as the ceiling began to rumble. The nathrezim had taken off out of the opening - device in hand - and flown out of sight; but Left and Right were determined to at least get their master out of this alive. Just as the first of the pillars came toppling down, Right set the second grappling hook to the top of the entrance; Left began scrambling up it at alarming pace considering she had Wrathion, at this time a full-sized half-elf, cradled in one of her arms. Right was close behind - and when the cloud of powdery snow had cleared from the air enough for them to see, Wrathion saw that all three of them were lying in the snow just beside the entrance.

The nathrezim was nowhere to be seen.

He stood and he kicked at the snow and he _cursed_.

But Right, standing from the ground, grabbed his arm and took off through the deep snow - Wrathion was about to protest when he actually _looked up_ and saw what she had seen. The arrogant creature had only gone and left the portal open! “We need to take it before it closes,” Right said, breaking into as much of a run as she could. It was Left’s turn to follow close behind as one of Wrathion’s bodyguards yet again dragged him back or forth across the Peaks.

There was no time to feel useless. He picked up his feet and started dashing his best through the knee-high snow; Right let go of his arm as he overtook her. They all knew that although their best chances were if all three of them got through it together, only one of them _needed_ to, and the portal was beginning to dwindle.

This was it. They weren’t going to get another chance. Either they went through this portal, or all was lost. _Everything_.

Wrathion shapeshifted and, despite the biting cold and barely-healed bones impeding his flight, darted forward for the portal.

He made it.

\--

The Legion camp was about as abysmal as Wrathion expected, and he darted for cover as soon as he landed there. The last thing he needed was to be captured again, especially now he was on his own once more. This had ended badly last time. He couldn’t allow it to do so again.

He spotted the nathrezim he’d followed a few dozen feet away, talking to a subordinate. He still had the device in hand. There was a single patrol of a felguard and its felhound between him and them; he just had to wait it out, and pray they didn’t destroy the device in the mean time.

He crouched down behind the debris he’d taken shelter in and poised his wings. He had one shot. _One shot_ , for all of Azeroth.

The felguard moved on, and Wrathion shot out towards the nathrezim.

Wings flapping furiously despite the burning pain in one, he kept his body streamlined until the last minute. The nathrezim didn’t even realise he was coming until he already had his claws closed around the device.

With one powerful flap of his wings, he shot upwards, little round orb of clicking Titan machinery finally clutched in his paws. He didn’t dare exhult in the adrenaline and relief he felt - he still had to detonate the thing, and for _that_ , he needed the right positioning. Somewhere high up, with line-of-sight to as much of the camp as possible. A quick scan around told him that the best place for it was atop what likely used to be a steep hilltop; it was charred and blackened now with sickly green cracks running through the ground. There was something else, too - something that might just be a broadcasting tower, if Wrathion’s luck was in.

He didn’t get much more time to scout it out. He heard wing-beats below him; the nathrezim had taken off, and was rapidly catching up with him.

It was bigger and faster on the straights than Wrathion was; but he was more agile, and quicker on the turn. There wasn’t much by way of cover, Wrathion realised as he struggled to zig-zag quick enough to stay out of the nathrezim’s grasp, but he would have to manage. There was no choice. No alternative. _This was it_.

It would only be a matter of time before they got the fel cannons prepared for use and began firing at him. Only be a matter of time before the information he needed to wipe out from their collective memories would be transmitted to other bases; other, higher-ranking demons. And if that happened, Azeroth was surely done for.

He came within firing range of the hill. And sure enough, a blast from down below told him they’d got the fel cannons up and running. He had to take advantage of his small size - he tucked his wings right in, still clutching the device tightly in all four paws, and divebombed towards what was definitely a communications tower now he was closer up to it. _This might just work!_

Blasts went off either side of him; one of them close enough that it sent him into a spin, and he almost careened into the path of the nathrezim still hot on his tail before he caught control of himself once again and managed to swoop up back towards his goal. He could see the input console, now - if he could just reach it and detonate the origination device, all this would be over. Its natural power would wipe the memories of the demons; its instructions through the console would wipe the memories of the databanks they kept; and he’d be free to return to plotting the Legion’s demise without worrying that his plans had all been compromised.

Assuming he survived the next five minutes, of course.

The opportunity to land couldn’t come soon enough. He shapeshifted fluently, his boots touching down feet from the console; he tucked the device into his belt quickly and took his polearm out to slice open the Mo’arg engineer which had been monitoring it. Barely wasting a second, he slammed the device into the console’s input receptacle, and--

“Wait!”

It was the nathrezim. It’d landed opposite Wrathion, and its hands were outstretched in a placating gesture. Wrathion’s heart swelled with the bitter triumph of reducing the demon to such a state.

“If you activate that device,” it said, “all _your_ memories will be wiped, as well. You’ll forget--”

Wrathion pushed the button.

 

 

 

Everything went white.


	8. Epilogue

There were people chatting not far from Wrathion’s bedside, and they seemed to quieten when he stirred. He tried to open his eyes to see who they were, to match the voices to faces - but as soon as he did so, sharp pain lanced through his head, and he screwed them shut again. No use.

He’d try again later, he vowed, as he drifted back to sleep.

This happened several times, and the voices began to grow familiar to him. There was one who sounded rough in texture, yet gentle in tone; an older person, most likely, and they were usually talking about very complex spellwork which Wrathion couldn’t quite conjure the energy to comprehend. There was another, younger-sounding, yet deeper and more authoritative - they didn’t speak much, save for to pose pointed questions towards the older voice. They were always sharp, observant, and with an undercurrent of worry to their tone. But they seemed to be here for Wrathion.

“There’s no way to know until he wakes up,” the older one said, repeatedly. “It’s _possible_ his previous re-origination opted him out of this one, but for all we know, he could wake up with no memories at all.” And Wrathion grew frustrated that he was awake, but neither of them had a way of knowing.

Until one day around two weeks into his time at this place when he was, on waking and reflexively trying to open his eyes, _actually capable of doing so_.

Which was when it all began to come back to him. He was in a lavishly decorated bedroom, lilac drapes and golden trimmings; this was the tower - not a house, a tower - of a friend. He stared blankly around the room, everything in it bringing something back; flooding his mind like refreshing spring rains, memories blooming like flowers between the cracks of the parched badlands. And then he settled on the face of one of the people. The younger voice, he assumed.

All at once, it came back. “...Anduin,” he said.

And Anduin kissed him _entirely_ unreservedly.

 


End file.
